There Just Isn't Anything
by Bookworm Kate
Summary: This takes place during Foyle's War, "Fifty Ships." I'm still new to fanfiction, so comments and reviews are greatly appreciated! Foyle/Sam


"There Just Isn't Anything"

I.

The garden was very beautiful, with pretty flowers, and a full vegetable patch, though Sam had never really noticed it before. But after being blown out of bed by Jerry's bombs the previous night, she now noticed every thing in more detail, and felt very glad to be alive. "Poor Jenny," she thought, shivering at the idea that it might have been her. All around her people were moving, some hammering, or moving furniture, others brewing tea. Sam stared at next-door's hedge, feeling as if ice encased her chest.

Quick footsteps came down the path, one set slightly off beat. Suddenly, a figured loomed in front of her, kneeling down and searching her face. Foyle put out his hand and touched hers, causing the world around her to come back all at once. Sam stood up quickly. "Oh, Sir, sorry I didn't report in for duty this morning."

"It couldn't matter less," Foyle said, his face a picture of agony at the thought of what might have happened to her during the bombing.

"Are you alright?" asked Milner.

Feeling grateful that someone else could do the talking for once, Foyle remained kneeling trying to clear his throat so his voice wouldn't betray any emotion. Sam was still in her nightdress, covered by her jacket, but Foyle could see her shivering. "Probably from shock," he thought, a wave of anger towards the Germans going through him. It was the same when he feared for Andrew. Breathing deeply, he listened to her story, pushing back the burning sensation that had come to his eyes. He couldn't bear the thought of what life would be like without Sam.

At the station later in the morning, Milner handed Sam a drink as she sat in Foyle's office. "What about finding somewhere else to live?" Foyle asked.

"I'll find something, Sir," Sam replied, taking the drink. She was very subdued, and Foyle hoped that she would feel better soon, missing her old liveliness. He also still felt very shaken, and had a feeling of not wanting to let her out of his sight in case anything else should happen. This was unreasonable of course, but the feeling of wanting to protect her flooded through him. He only wished there was something he could do to help her, to cheer her up. Maybe he could take her out to dinner? Dinner. Foyle cursed silently as he remembered his dinner engagement for later that evening. He sighed and hoped he could remember how to do his bowtie.

Sam drove Foyle to the house at Romney Point, chattering away as usual. Foyle couldn't get a word in edgewise, but felt pleased that Sam was her old self again. He caught her glancing at him throughout the drive, as if curious, and he gave her look. "Yes, Sam?"

Sam went bright red and grinned shyly. "You look different, Sir, that's all… a good different of course. Um, I suppose… I mean, well, you look nice, Sir."

Foyle smiled and felt his pulse quicken. "Well thank you, Sam. A miracle really, since this suit hasn't seen the light of day in many years."

There was a pause, and they both looked towards each other, then quickly looked away. Foyle felt years younger all of a sudden, and he suspected it wasn't just the formal attire.

After dropping Foyle off, Sam sat in Milner's office using the telephone, trying to find somewhere to stay. Milner came in just as she put the receiver down, and asked if she had found a place. She shook her head, "it's amazing, there just isn't anything available." After Sam joked about a night in the cells, Milner offered his spare room, horrified at the thought of her sleeping in a cold cell. They both agreed not to mention it to Foyle, as it was not done for a lady to stay with a man when his wife was away. Sam was so relieved at having a bed for the night, and she left with Milner in high spirits.

But that too turned into a disaster when Jane arrived home unexpectedly the second night of her stay. Sam had been flirting slightly with Milner when trying to get him to dance with her, and felt a little embarrassed. She realized when thinking about it later, that like an available room, there "just wasn't anything" in her feelings towards Milner. She felt more like a sister, and wasn't at all attracted to him. With this realization, Sam finally understood to whom she really was attracted to, and the thought frightened her.

The next day Sam had to dodge Foyle's question of if she'd found anywhere to stay. And after sleeping one night in a cell at the station on a hard mattress, she felt miserable, hoping Foyle wouldn't notice her yawns. Throughout the week the only thing that kept her spirits up was the investigation, especially when Foyle let her help when they found Colin Morton's car in Wood Lane. He asked her what she thought had happened, and showed her how he had come to his conclusion that Morton had been dragged from the car, making Sam feel very pleased."It is nice to be included," she thought.

When Foyle apprehended the men from the AFS, punching the ringleader, Sam felt her attraction for her boss double. It was Foyle's turn to be pleased however, when she gave him the tip off about the gear from the victim's pocket. "We make a jolly good team," Sam mused as she lay down on the hard mattress in her cell that night. It was a comforting thought, which was more than could be said for her bed.

The station was very quiet, but the sharp sound of footsteps caught Sam's attention. "It's probably Sergeant Rivers," she thought, and went back to her book. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard her name. "Sam?"

"Sir!" Sam sat up quickly, blushing slightly.

"What are you doing here?" Foyle asked, looking at her in amazement.

Sam explained, looking at Foyle earnestly in the hope that she wasn't about to get into trouble. "I've spoken to the billeting officer, but there just _isn't_ anything." Sam wondered how many more times she would have to say it that week.

"You _can't_ sleep here," Foyle said in disgust, looking around at the cell as if it were personably responsible for Sam's discomfort.

"It's not so bad…although the mattress is rather hard, well it's more like a plank."

"For God's sake, really." Foyle looked annoyed, and Sam felt her heart sink. Glancing behind him, Foyle cleared his throat hesitantly and said, "Look it won't bother me, if it doesn't bother you, but you can use the back room at my house. Just until you get yourself sorted, if you like."

Sam's face lit up, "Really Sir? Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course, come on." Foyle reached for her bag and led the way. Sam grinned widely and thanked him profusely, offering to make him dinner in return for his hospitality. But as they drove off, a nagging thought came in to the back of her mind, and she tried to push it away. She knew it was unreasonable, and such things were just not done. Yet, somewhere inside her she felt hopeful and once again she thought how wonderful it was to be alive.

II.

Clattering around Foyle's kitchen making dinner, Sam talked about the case and occasionally asked him where things were. Foyle thought she looked very natural there. It was a long time since a woman had stood in his kitchen, making him dinner, and he felt a wave of sadness and guilt wash over him, thinking of his late wife. He loosened his tie and was glad Sam's back was to him so she couldn't see the emotions playing out on his face. When she turned around she held two steaming plates of food. Pushing back the emotions, Foyle smiled warmly at Sam and said, "This looks wonderful, Sam, thank you."

"Well thank _you_, Sir. I'm looking forward to a proper night's sleep!"

Foyle's mind wandered slightly, seeing visions of Sam in her nightdress, sitting in the garden, sitting here with him – it was like a dream, and yet so real. He cleared his throat and smiled again, letting her chatter on.

"It's becoming harder and harder to find food in the shops, and there usually just isn't anything! I don't know what I'll do if the rations get any tighter." Sam shoveled potatoes into her mouth as if she hadn't eaten a square meal all week. Foyle wondered if this was the case and all at once had that protective feeling come over him again.

Foyle was pleased to let her talk – it was comforting to have sound in a house that was usually so very quiet. After dinner they did the washing up together. "I hate drying," Sam said, handing him the tea towel, "do you mind?"

Foyle laughed, "Do I have a choice?"

When all the cutlery and dishes were put away Foyle led the way into the lounge, pulling a curtain straight to maintain the blackout as Sam switched on a lamp. He poured them both a drink, and sat down in his favorite chair. She sat in Andrew's chair, and looked at him over the rim of her glass. They caught each other's eye, but this time neither of them looked away. Foyle smiled kindly, noticing that Sam's face was a little bit sad. He became thoughtful, and took a sip of his drink. Swallowing hard he asked, "How are you, Sam?"

Looking up she smiled ruefully and rubbed her nose. "I'm alright, Sir. No thanks to Jerry, mind you." She took a sip. "And you, Sir?"

Foyle twitched his lips, ignoring the question. "Who did you stay with earlier this week before you ended up at the station, Sam?"

Sam sighed and looked at the glass in her hands. "Milner, Sir. He was very kind, like you. Please don't be angry." She looked up at him solemnly.

"I'm not angry, Sam. Far from it…" Foyle looked at his hands and cleared his throat, "So, um, what happened?" He hoped she wouldn't hear the note of uneasiness in his voice.

Sam explained, going red when she described Jane walking in and finding her there. Foyle let out a breath of relief. He quickly changed the subject to a lighter topic, and soon suggested it was time to go to bed. He followed Sam upstairs and said a hurried "goodnight" before closing his door. Sam slowly closed the door to the spare room and sighed. "Why must I feel so confused?" she thought, "More importantly, what am I going to do about forgetting my feelings for Mr. Foyle?"

Changing into her night things, Sam reflected on the time they had spent together in the past year. Tonight she had felt mixed emotions coming from her boss. "Maybe I'm not the only one who is a little confused at our situation." Sam sighed heavily, and switched out the light, hoping that things would seem clearer in the morning.

Sam tossed and turned for nearly an hour, after which she heard Foyle's snore's coming softly down the corridor. She snuggled further down under the blankets, and soon was dozing. Uncertain dreams came to her: she saw her boss hitting the AFS thief, all the while dressed in his dinner jacket and bowtie; she heard the song that had played on Milner's wireless during dinner; she heard the whistling of bombs and Jenny's cry before she died.

Sam woke trembling. "Will I ever forget that horrible scene?" she wondered, tears coming to her eyes. It was the third time she had dreamt about it since the bombing. Still trembling slightly, Sam pushed back the blankets and stepped onto the cold floor, deciding to go downstairs to try and clear her mind. The house was silent, and all she could hear was the ticking of the hall clock. The stairs creaked mercilessly under her feet, and Sam cursed each step that made a noise. After lighting a candle, she sat with a cup of tea in her hands in the kitchen, trying to erase the images of her dream. A draught was coming in from the window, so she wandered into the lounge and sat in Foyle's chair. It was hard to believe she was actually staying at his house, and she tried to absorb the atmosphere. She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice that someone was watching her.

III.

Foyle woke when he heard the creaking of the stairs. It was how he used to catch Andrew trying to sneak off. He wondered for a moment if it was his son. Sitting up, shaking off sleep, he listened harder, and remembered that Sam was staying over. He got up, pulling on his dressing gown, and went downstairs quietly. He could see the flickering light of a candle in the lounge and he stood watching Sam for a minute. She was thinking hard and didn't notice him. Her face looked sad, and she frowned in concentration. "Sam," he whispered softly.

She jumped, startled, and stood up, "Sorry, Sir, I couldn't sleep."

"It's quite alright, Sam," he paused, "um, why couldn't you sleep?"

Sam sighed sadly, "I had a dream about the night of the bombing…of Jenny dying." She nearly said, "of you," but stopped herself in time. Foyle walked in and sat down on the sofa. Sam sat back down in his chair heavily.

"I'm sorry, Sam, it must be hard for you."

Sam shivered, from the cold and from the memory. Foyle noticed and stood, shrugging off his robe and offering it to her. "Here, take this, don't get cold."

Although Sam tried to refuse, she was grateful too, and pulled it around her shoulders. It smelled wonderfully of Foyle and she shivered again, this time for a different reason. He smiled kindly, and his concern touched her. She talked to him for a while about the bombing and what she remembered, feeling much better for it. She noticed Foyle's unwavering gaze, and how he listened carefully to what she had to say.

"I've made tea, if you'd like some," she said, hoping he would stay up for a little while longer.

"Yes, that'd be nice."

Sam walked to the kitchen and poured him a cup. When she turned he was there, standing in the doorway, holding the candle and looking comical, and yet vulnerable in his pajamas. He rubbed his forehead. "I'm glad you are here, Sam…that you are safe." He faltered, looking uncertainly at her. Sam set down the cup, going towards him, and did something she never thought she could – she hugged him, laying her head on his shoulder. "You have no idea how glad I am too, Sir." He put his arm around her, awkwardly at first, then more confidently. She pulled away, turning back to the cup on the table. She whispered, "It's the war, isn't it? " Foyle moved quickly, putting the candle down, and reaching for her arm. "Sam?" he asked. She turned, looking up into his face, searching his eyes. Recognizing the concern there, she wanted to reassure him that she was all right, just struggling with coming to terms with what happened. She nodded slightly, and smiled. She was about to speak when he pulled her into his arms, and kissed her head. "My dear Sam, what would I do without you?"

Stroking her hair, letting the tears finally come into his eyes, Foyle kissed her gently and held her tightly against him. She kissed him back, the ice melting from her inside chest, finally feeling safe from the world. And in Foyle's draughty kitchen they found each other. In their isolation they were like lifelines to one another, realizing that together, they could survive these uncertain times.


End file.
